Witch Hunter: Oneshots
by Tin Mouse
Summary: A collection of oneshots starring assorted characters. May contain subtextual slash, femslash, incest, etc., but what else did you expect? This IS Witch Hunter we're dealing with. Updated sporadically.
1. Too Quiet

**Title**: Too Quiet

**Series**: Witch Hunter

**Characters**: Aria; Varete

**Rating**: G

**Summary**: Aria is disappointed.

**Notes/Warnings**: I don't own Witch Hunter, blah blah blah. Takes place pre-series. Slight incestual subtext.

* * *

When the rush of mana fades and the dust begins to settle, Aria finds herself shaking. Lakeville's smoldering remains are a different picture than the last few towns she razed, mostly for their spectral quiet. This time, there are no survivors to fill the silence with anguished screams, no plaintive cries rising from mounds of rubble. It scares her. She wills Aegis' disks to her sides, savoring the mechanical whirr as they glide into place.

Her supporter cannot speak. Aegis is a machine, after all; without her mana supply its saucers would be no more sentient than kitchenware. The most obedient supporters often are, Varete once said, for the mindless cannot rebel.

They cannot love, either.

Aria wraps her arms around herself, suddenly conscious of the weight of her limbs and her heart and her memories. She wills Aegis into the jumble of wood, stone and corpses, just to be rid of it. As they disappear into the debris, gleaming in the gloam, she curses its mindless subservience. Aria doesn't need its loveless devotion. She needs human kindness and the warmth of a touch, of _his_ touch, of Tasha's_—_

A ripple in the atmosphere. Aria tenses, straightening like a bowstring pulled taut. Aegis speeds back to her side. Could it be? She focuses on the mana signature, attempting to put a name to the energy.

Varete.

Aria relaxes, too exhausted for disappointment. Levelling Lakeville and dispatching a fresh squad of WHs cost more time and mana than she cares to admit. Now the earth grows cold and dark, and she can't tell whether she trembles from mana withdrawal or the bitter autumn chill.

She closes her eyes, gathers her wits. Varete will arrive to collect her soon, and Aria shouldn't like to be seen so disturbed. Varete would scold her for it later, probably, once they've hung up their hats, using those soft liquid tones reserved for her chambers. 'Miss Aria should not leave the fortress alone,' she'll say, as though she's a wandering child and not the legendary Red Witch.

Varete draws closer, closer, closer still. She's already standing before her when Aria's eyes open next, the Abyss' inky tendrils curling up from her shadow. Affecting nonchalance, Aria steps towards her, noting the tension between Varete's angled brows.

"Miss Aria. You know you aren't to leave unattended."

Aria shrugs, Aegis' disks settling by her shoulders like a pair of tame birds. "Just take me home," she says, a quiver in her voice and the cores of her bones. Varete lifts an arm, expression cold, and the Abyss' black ribbons rise to encase them both.

As the dark closes in, Aria steals one final glance at Lakeville's remains and brands them into her memory.

"There's nothing for me here, anyway."


	2. Tea For Three

**Title**: Tea For Three  
**Fandom**: Witch Hunter  
**Characters**: Monica; Eclipse; Alv  
**Rating**: PG  
**Summary**: In which Monica admires Eclipse's figure, has doubts about her own, and learns just how possessive Alv Bronte can be.  
**Notes/Warnings**: Femslash alert! I'm just amping the series' Les Yay up to eleven, but Jung Man is such a femslash fanboy I bet he's thought of this, too. Based on the events of Ch. 10 and 11.

* * *

These witches do _not_ fool around.

Monica can't remember what, exactly, she expected of her first day at HQ. Boarding an invisible train with a white-haired boy and a sentient pumpkin should've desensitized her to strange happenings, but even that couldn't prepare her for being cast in chains by a child and subject to the hands of a voluptuous woman.

"Basics first," Eclipse said, no sooner than they arrived at a deserted room (which Monica later learned was one of many parlors); "You're going to need a uniform. Alv, unbind her — we'd better take her measurements."

And Monica found herself led towards one corner, limbs half-asleep, where Eclipse arranged her like a mannequin on the carpet. Alv frowned at the sight. Her small hands were occupied with a pencil and notepad, which to Monica had come out of nowhere.

Now she stands between a chaise lounge and the kneeling Eclipse, whose cool fingertips press measuring tape to the inside of her thigh. Monica stares at a wall, the ceiling, a potted plant in the corner; anywhere but Alv or the woman before her. Alv's eyes are sharp as Halloween's swords, and Eclipse's rouged lips evoke improper imagery, close as they are to the fork of her legs.

Perhaps sensing her tension, Eclipse chuckles. "Just relax."

Monica's brows flatten. Easy for her to say; she doesn't feel like a cut of mutton dangling in the meatshop window. Being defined in numbers, attacked by measures and quick, confident hands is strange enough. The amount of thought Eclipse devotes to whatever she's currently appraising only makes it worse. She emits these thoughtful mmm-ing sounds as she works.

A moment passes, and she drops the measure from Monica's leg to wind it round her waist. Eclipse's face is level with her bare middle as she measures its girth; her breath ghosts hot against Monica's navel. Muscles with no business tensing bunch at the sensation.

Before this can become truly distracting, Eclipse rises from the rug and shoots numbers off in Alv's direction. Monica thanks her stars. As Alv jots down her measurements, she pulls in her shoulders and clasps her hands, winding gratefully inwards after being so exposed.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Eclipse turns towards her, smiling, tape measure taut between white hands. "For a witch of your calibre, a strip of cloth shouldn't pose a threat."

Heat bursts across Monica's face from the frill of her collar, though Eclipse's low chuckle betrays no derision. She doesn't know what to say. Justifying herself seems silly, but standing around blushing must be sillier still.

"I guess I'm just not used to being sized up."

Eclipse's brows rise. "No?"

She circles her as she speaks, heels miraculously avoiding catching in the rug. Willing her pulse to slow, Monica shakes her head as the footfalls stop behind her. "I just wore whatever the older girls left behind when they moved out of the orphanage."

Silence. For a moment, Monica fears she's made Eclipse awkward with this slice of history. Instead of the uncertain symapthy she's come to expect from strangers, though, Eclipse responds by poking a finger between her shoulderblades.

"Chest out," she says. "Arms above your head."

Monica blinks, doing as instructed. That's… kind of her, actually. The warmth in Eclipse's voice suggests skirting the topic is a courtesy, not a sign of disinterest. The prospect warms Monica to her new master; she might've begun to relax if Eclipse wasn't looping the measure over her head and pulling it snug against her breasts.

"Hmm…"

The sound makes Monica wish Parvati could turn her invisible. As Xing's criticism of her figure shoots to the surface of her conscious mind, she resists the urge to cross her arms over her chest.

Stupid Xing. She never doubted her body till he — a total stranger! — decided to insult it. Monica supposes she can forgive the slight as a pervert's musings ("Just ignore him," Tasha said, jerking a thumb towards his tranquillized teammate, "_I_ do it all the time.") but hearing curvaceous Eclipse echo the sentiment humbles her. Only when the measure loosens does Monica find she's been holding her breath.

It gusts, rattling, from her lungs. Eclipse strides round to Alv's side and leans down to better see the notepad. They exchange nods. "Well, Monica, I'd say you're a small all around."

The word rings like a death sentence in Monica's ears. It's all right to be small, but being '_a_ small' implies something else entirely. It doesn't imply 'short'. It doesn't imply 'petite', or 'vertically-challenged'. A girl who's 'a small' is… she's…

In her mind, Xing's pointing and crying, 'Those things are flat as _bricks_!'

Blushing hard, Monica tucks folded hands against her chest. Alv watches her with unblinking eyes as she tears the top sheet from her notepad, which Eclipse then takes.

"Take a seat." Eclipse gestures with the paper towards the lounge. "I'll visit the clerical wing and order you up a uniform. If you get thirsty, just ask Alv; she'll pour you some tea." Her lips form a plush curve. "You'll find we have a passion for it."

Monica mumbles her thanks and backs into the lounge with an awkward smile. Its cushions rise at either side when she sits; they're nothing like the orphanage's stiff old mattresses. As Eclipse strides for the door, Monica grips her knees and risks a glance at Alv. The small witch stands facing the exit. She looks like a doll.

_Don't feel bad,_ Monica tells herself, _She's a small, too. Of course, Alv's probably too young to care, but still…_

She straightens with a start as Alv turns towards her. Her powers better not include mnind-reading. She seems expectant, so Monica swallows and says, carefully, "You two like tea?"

"We drink every day." This is the first time they've conversed. Alv's quiet tones are intense as her eyes. "_Together_."

The possessiveness in that single word startles her. "Oh," she says, understanding now. "Sounds like fun. I bet you two get along really well."

Alv doesn't reply, but the hint of a frown and the slant of her brow seem to say, _Yes, and you'd better not come between us._

Monica gives a meek smile. She'll be careful not to take _too much_ of Eclipse's time.


	3. Drinking Alone

**Title**: Drinking Alone  
**Fandom:** Witch Hunter  
**Characters:** Words; Eunryu  
**Rating**: PG  
**Summary:** Words doesn't appreciate Eunryu's nighttime intrusions.  
**Notes/Warnings:** This ship makes little to no sense. I regret nothing.

**O**_ver_ time, Words learned to anticipate Eunryu's arrival. It wasn't hard; Eunryu always appeared, unfailing, during Words' precious few moments of privacy. This irritated him. Reading and drinking (his truest loves, beyond Carena and Cooga) ought not to be interrupted. Fine wines relaxed him too much for company, and the classics made him nostalgic.

He was contented then - or as close to contented as he'd come since _they_ took his left eye - and Eunryu hadn't earned the privilege of his smile.

So long as Eunryu didn't catch him at anything exceptionally private, he forewent confrontation. He warned Eunryu all of once against visiting unannounced, but Eunryu'd only grinned his wolfish grin and carried on as per usual.

Words left it at that.

The issue wasn't worth debating. Though a firmer approach might've garnered more favourable results, Words disdained such petty arguments too much to bother. He needn't ask to know that Eunryu plotted his visits around Words' leisure. He forgave the intrusions, more or less, for the sake of convenience - not out of any silent attraction Eunryu imagined he returned.

When Words' patience finally broke, he was almost disappointed.

It was a slow evening. He had just emerged from the bath, with his damp hair draped over one shoulder, lean chest bare and 'eye' exposed. When he returned to his quarters, Eunryu - all sharp lines and devious smiles - was laying on his bed. Words stared.

"Well, well." Eunryu sat up on his elbows with a most aggrieving smirk. "I always wondered what you looked like under there, von Worth."

He replied with an instinctive attack.

The fight ended as quick as it began, of course, with the tip of Eunryu's spear against Words' pale throat. The threatening half-sting of steel doused his temper, and when Words brushed his fringe over his eye and moved to retrieve a fresh eyepatch, Eunryu stared after him with that damnably sharp smile.

Afterwards, Words made a point of reworking his schedule. Never mind relaxed spontaneity: He showered upon returning to Central and replaced his patch in the bathroom. He reserved his wines for after Eunryu'd left and read in the morning, at bedtime, or when maintaining the WH facade saw Eunryu too busy for rendezvous.

Until now, this plan served him well.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

**"N**_ot_ invitin' me for drinks?" Eunryu's breath comes hot against Words' ear as he hovers at his back, trapping him between the wine cabinet and his own taller frame. "I thought we were pals, Words. I'm hurt."

"Eunryu." He narrows his eyes and exhales through his nose, determined not to grant this unwanted visitor the delight of making him sweat. He squares his stance and doesn't look back. "You've come late."

"Chartin' my visits, now." Eunryu retreats, just one step, gloved hand gripping Words' shoulder. The heat of his skin seeps through leather and silk. "I guess I should feel special. Didn't think you liked anyone but that Kunein boy- well, him and your precious master."

Words turns free of his grasp, the motion mechanically precise as his glare.

"Step aside, Eunryu."

A wry half-bow as Words strides past.

"M'lord."

Bottle in hand, he proceeds towards the armchair in which he habitually drinks and brings down the cabinet's latch with his command over gravity. Eunryu quirks a brow at the sharp clack and joins Words across the room.

"All right, all right. Y'know I'm just screwin' with you." The usual smirk tugs at Eunryu's lips. "We're allies; North wouldn't want us pickin' fights with each other."

Never mind that Eunryu's the one fixed on confronting him. As if he were invisible, Words pours himself a drink and swirls the amber liquid in its goblet. He takes a delicate sip.

"Then don't aggravate me."

"Oho... _someone's _touchy tonight."

Words won't dignify him with a response.

"Anyway," Eunryu continues, "I've got new orders from North." He digs the blunt end of his spear into the carpeting and leans against the shaft. (The last time he used the blade, Words shot him a glare so withering that Eunryu immediately reversed it.) "Get your D-class lackey to secure an appointment with Diana. I have an assassination scheduled. He'll need to cover my tracks."

"An assassination..." Words eyes his own reflection in the drink, finds his expression impressively controlled. "Of whom?"

"South Central's S-class." He flashes that wolf-like grin which Words dislikes. "Shouldn't be hard. She's small fry compared to Master North. Hell, she's no different than any other witch I've fought."

"Of course." Eunryu's boasting bores him, and he turns his eyes aside. _You're wasting my time. _He notes the slant of Eunryu's hips, the droop of his eyelids as he extends a hand towards the table by Words' chair.

"Dutiful, like expected. I'm jealous of Carena."

He pauses, as if expecting Words to remind him that his lips are unfit for his dear master's name. Again, he refuses Eunryu the satisfaction.

"So," Eunryu carries on, undeterred; "how's about a drink, comrade?"

Words responds with a high-bred snort and stares at him sidelong with his natural eye.

"I'm sure you've someplace to be."

"Cold."


End file.
